


confused, intrigued, and falling hard for you my love

by binarysunsets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Muggle Harry Styles, Muggle Quidditch, Mutual Pining, Slytherin Louis Tomlinson, Wizard Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 12:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18165326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarysunsets/pseuds/binarysunsets
Summary: There’s a broom on the poster, and the iconic golden snitch in the corner. Louis catches himself wondering why the ball isn’t zipping about the paper, waiting for it to speed away any second, before he remembers it’s a muggle drawing and it can’t do that. Instead, it’s been drawn with trailing lines to create the illusion of movement. It’s not moving, and he’s staring at a muggle poster. He’s staring at a muggle poster for a muggle university’s quidditch team tryouts.or an au where Louis's a pureblood wizard who enrols in muggle university, Harry's a fellow muggle student, and the day they meet changes a lot of things for them both.





	confused, intrigued, and falling hard for you my love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stylindad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylindad/gifts).



> Much love and thanks to the mods for organizing this exchange (this is a wee bit late for which I'm very sorry). As always, thanks to my lovely beta Bella who lets me throw all kinds of ideas at her while I brainstorm for fics and helps decide things for me when I can't do it myself. 
> 
> For the prompt: "After graduating from Hogwarts Person A goes to Uni in the muggle world and joins a Quidditch team, where he meets Person B (up to you if he's also a wizard or a muggle). Also lots of pining, and A trying to hide that he's actually a wizard (bonus points for him complaining to his wizard friends about how the rules of muggle quidditch suck)". 
> 
> I didn't hit everything, unfortunately, but I hope I hit enough of them (I made sure to include the Little Mix girls in at least some capacity for you!).
> 
> For all: in case it's not clear, in this universe the Harry Potter novels exist, but they're written by a witch who's found a great way to make a profit without giving away that the WORLD of the novels is actually real (the big story events of Harry Potter are still fictionalized, so no Voldemort or Harry Potter or any of the characters). 
> 
> In any case, I hope you all enjoy!

When Louis first sees the poster he thinks it must be charmed, and he tilts his head and hums bemusedly to himself because he hadn’t realized there was such a large magic population in Cambridge. When a pair of definitively muggle students take a picture of the poster to save the date, chattering about what kind of game this quidditch could be—because there’s no way they wouldn’t know what the tryouts are for, not if they were magical, Louis would bet all the galleons in his wallet on it—Louis is a little confused and a lot concerned. His brow furrows and he squints at the poster, worrying his lip as he tries to make sense of what he’s really seeing.

 _I don’t think quidditch means what I think it means here_ , Louis surmises. _And yet_.

There’s a broom on the poster, and the iconic golden snitch in the corner. Louis catches himself wondering why the ball isn’t zipping about the paper, waiting for it to speed away any second, before he remembers it’s a muggle drawing and it can’t do that. Instead, it’s been drawn with trailing lines to create the illusion of movement. It’s not moving, and he’s staring at a muggle poster. He’s staring at a muggle poster for _a muggle university’s quidditch team tryouts._

The distress must be obvious on his face, or perhaps it’s radiating off his body, because he hasn’t been staring at the poster for more than five minutes before a voice chimes in from behind him, “Oh! Quidditch! I didn’t know tryouts were already starting! Those quidditch players don’t waste any time, huh? Classes don’t start until next week. Thinking about trying out? Or are you just a fan?”

“Huh?” Louis blinks, pulled out of his stupor by the man who has just spoken. Louis turns, and is struck dumb anew by who has to be the most beautiful man to ever walk the earth. His hair is chestnut brown, and what hasn’t been pulled up into a messy bun curls into ringlets around his cheeks. His eyes are a silvery green, and they sparkle even behind the tortoiseshell glasses the man wears. He’s wearing what looks like maybe the comfiest brown jumper Louis has ever seen over a white shirt, and though the sleeves of the jumper cover part of the man’s hands, they don’t hide the plethora of chunky rings that adorn the man’s fingers. His jeans are loose and light blue, and he’s wearing some worn black trainers that, if Louis is remembering correctly what Jade told him when he’d asked about her muggle shoes, are a brand called Vans, based on the peek of red he can see on the heels.

“The quidditch tryouts? You were staring pretty intensely at the poster. You reckon you’re gonna try out? Or are you just a fan? Of the sport, I mean, not the books.” He frowns, and tilts his head and mumbles as he says mostly to himself, “But I guess most people who are fans of the sport are also fans of Harry Potter, huh?”

 _Harry Potter?_ The name isn’t familiar, and Louis wonders if they’re some up-and-coming quidditch player he—somehow—hasn’t yet heard of.

Louis says, “Huh?” He still hasn’t remembered how to say anything else.

The man frowns at Louis’ lack of comprehension and says slowly like something’s wrong with him, “You...have heard of Harry Potter, right?”

Louis’ heart jolts because no, he hasn’t, and he’s about to blow his cover as a wizard and the Ministry is going to come for him and have him thrown into Azkaban for breaking the Statute of Secrecy even though it’s only his first week away from magical society all because he doesn’t know about bloody _Harry sodding Potter and this wasn’t covered in his Muggle Studies class dammit what in Merlin’s name is he supposed to do_ — “Ohhh Harry Potter! Yeah of course I’ve heard of...Harry Potter,” Louis settles on, because he’s still not sure who or what—he’s pretty sure Harry Potter is a who, but there’s a muggle quidditch poster on the university’s sports bulletin board and he’s not about to take any chances, dammit—“I was just having a stupid moment, there. Nargles, am I right? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they steal more than just my left shoes.” He laughs nervously, and prays the man doesn’t notice the way it’s edged with hysteria.

Shit. _Shit, shit shit sodding bloody shit fucking shit—_

The man laughs and say, “I believe it. Nasty little buggers, those nargles.”

And hold on a minute. Did he actually run into another wizard?

The man continues, “I wish I could play. Harry Potter is what led me to study literature and creative writing, but I trip over my own feet standing still, nevermind running around with a broom in between my legs.” He laughs and shrugs when he adds, “And I don’t think I have the speed to be a snitch. Don’t have a runner’s body. I just try to catch matches whenever I can. It’s good fun to watch.”

Louis’ head spins. Running in quidditch? _Being_ the snitch? Quidditch here _definitely_ doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.

“It’s a shame it’s impossible to play quidditch like they do in the books and the films,” the man says wistfully, “if I could fly on a broomstick maybe I’d be able to make the team.”

Impossible? He had played quidditch all the way through seventh year and had seriously considered going professional before he realized he had absolutely no interest in becoming a celebrity. And this man—definitely a muggle, not a wizard—is telling him that playing quidditch on a flying broomstick is impossible? Merlin’s beard, his broom is on its stand back in his flat! What kind of quidditch is this?

The man flushes suddenly and adjusts his glasses when Louis doesn’t respond immediately. “Sorry, I’m kind of a huge nerd about this stuff. I know most people aren’t in as deep as I am. I tend to run my mouth when I’m on the subject. It’s probably weird for you.”

“No, no, not at all!” At least, not for the reason the man seems to think it’s weird. He seems to be a fan of this _Harry Potter_...thing which, from what Louis can surmise, is some kind of...book series? Or moving picture series? _Movies. Films._ , his mind supplies helpfully, the kind Jade shows him sometimes when he visits her family over the holidays. And yet, this series seems to be about the same wizarding world Louis was born and raised in, and he doesn’t know how that’s possible unless somebody has committed a serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy.

The man’s hands suddenly fly up to cover his face and he says, muffled, from behind his palms, “Jesus, I haven’t even introduced myself.” He drops his hands and Louis can see that his face, somehow, has grown even redder and he’s flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears. The man proffers his hand and clears his throat once before he says, “Hi, I’m Harry. This is my first year here at the university.”

Louis takes the man’s—Harry’s—hand. It’s warm, and the tips feel calloused. Louis wonders if he plays an instrument. A thought flits through Louis’ mind and he arches an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk when he drawls, “Not Potter, I imagine?” He might not understand this whole muggle quidditch thing, but he knows how to interact with all kinds of people. His family has made sure of that.

Harry lets out a loud, bark of a laugh that should be off-putting but which Louis can only find charming. When a grin breaks over Harry’s face, Louis’ heart flips and his stomach twists. His cheeks burn and Louis is sure there’s a flush crawling up his chest and across his cheeks now, too. Not only a man, but a _muggle_ man. His family would be thrilled.

“No, Styles. I used to pretend as a child, though.”

“Cute,” Louis returns Harry’s grins and delights in the way Harry’s eyes widen and he coughs, suddenly unable to stand still as he tucks a stray curl behind his ear and tugs the hem of his jumper down.

“I’m Louis. Austin. It’s my first year here also.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Louis.” Harry’s voice has softened, and Louis lets himself imagine it’s because those words are meant for his ears only.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Louis responds, and barely refrains from bowing, body moving on autopilot while his brain is preoccupied with the man in front of him.

 _He’s a muggle_ , Louis chastises himself, _and you’d be in a world of trouble if you brought him home. You don’t even know if he’s worth it yet, Austin, slow it down._

Louis notes the way Harry bites his bottom lip at his response and stays the grin threatening to break across his face. His eyes seem to shine when he says, “Is it now? Then will I get the pleasure of seeing you play on the university’s quidditch team?”

“Oh,” Louis hums and his own eyes dance with mirth was he teases, “have high expectations of my quidditch ability there, haven’t you?”

Harry shrugs, “You have the body of an athlete. I’m sure you’ll be a shoe-in for whatever role you try out for.”

Louis blinks and glances down at his outfit. He supposes he does look like the athletes he’s seen on the advertisements around the city, with the white-striped trackies, white trainers, and black jumper he’s wearing, but the entire thing is soft and comfy and Jade had assured him it was what everybody was wearing and that he wouldn’t stand out. He’s definitely seen other muggles around campus dressed similarly but—“I mean, it’s just what’s on trend right now,” he tries.

Harry clears his throat and says, “It is but, uhm, I didn’t mean your outfit.”

Louis blinks and looks down at his pants and the way they cling to his thighs—ah. He flushes and finally settles on, “Oh.” His tongue darts across his lip as he wonders how much he should reveal to Harry because, the thing is, Harry’s real cute and Louis doesn’t exactly want to stop talking to him yet. “Well, I suppose I did play....sports all through school.”

Harry gives a small laugh and says, “I figured as much. Which one?”

This time when Louis’ stomach twists it makes him want to throw up. What is he supposed to say? Louis frantically tries to recall what muggle sport it was Jade had said quidditch was just like. He blurts, “Football!” and prays Harry doesn’t ask him about it further. But of course—

“Oh! What’s your team?”

_Fuck me._

“Uh, Man U.” Jade would be thrilled that he’s embracing her team, and Louis makes a mental note to thank her later for dragging him to any and every game her team played whenever possible.

“A man of taste, then! I’m a Man U bloke myself,” Harry responds.

Louis just nods, laughs and hopes his retort of, “Should I be surprised?” lands and doesn’t give him away as somebody who doesn’t know as much about the muggles’ football as he should.

This elicits another of Harry’s guffaws, and Louis takes it as indication that he’s said the right thing. “Probably not, no.” Harry hesitates for a moment, worrying his bottom lip before he gingerly says, “If you ever want to catch a match with somebody, feel free to shoot me a message. I don’t have any standing plans with anybody—I’m from out of the city—but only if you don’t have anybody else to watch it with! I don’t mean to impose or anything…” His eyes widen and his ears blush red, “But I guess you need a way to contact me, huh?” He grabs his mobile out of his trouser pocket and asks Louis what his number is so Harry can, “text you my number.”

Louis eyes widen. He doesn’t have a mobile. He barely even understands what they are or how they work, and now he truly doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t even know how to make an attempt at a response. So he tries the truth. The way he figures, the fewer the lies he has to keep up with the easier to keep them all straight. Considering he can’t keep much of anything else straight, he thinks absently and just a tad hysterically. “I don’t have one. I’ve never had one. Don’t know how to use them and don’t much care for the things. My family doesn’t much care for mu—much fancy technology in general. Letters are still their preferred method of communication.” And firecalls, Louis mentally adds, but he knows that one definitely won’t go over well.

Harry blinks, and Louis feels his stomach wrench and try to crawl out of his throat. _No no no please no don’t tell me that’s where the line is—_

“One of those families trying to disconnect, huh? I admire that. I’ve been trying to disconnect myself for years, but no luck. I love me some Instagram, what can you do?” Harry laughs and shrugs helplessly. Louis carefully doesn't interrupt Harry to ask what an "Instagram" is. He's a little bit scared to find out. “Must be nice to still get handwritten letters. I don’t remember the last time I got anything in the mail that wasn’t a bill or an online package.”

_Oh thank Merlin._

Louis laughs as well, and hopes that it doesn’t belie just how frazzled he is right now. “Yeah, you could say that. You know, the funny thing is that my handwriting is still atrocious anyways no matter how many letters I write. You wouldn’t know that my family made sure I had penmanship lessons as a child. I suppose there are some things you just can’t change.” He knows he’s rambling, and he’s reminded of _other_ things his family wishes they could change about him. Too bad.

Harry says quietly, low enough that it’s barely above a whisper, “I’m not sure there’s anything that isn’t perfect about you, to be quite honest.”

By the way the comment sends a bright red flush across his cheeks Louis’s not sure Harry actually meant to say that aloud, so Louis does him the dignity of not responding.

Harry clears his throat a few times, but the flush doesn’t leave his face. “Uh, anyway.” He digs around in his bag and pulls out a pad of paper and a stubby pencil. He scribbles something on the page before tearing it from the pad and handing it to Louis. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead biting his lip as Louis takes the paper from his proffered hand.

_Harry Styles (not Potter): 07xxx xxx xxx :)_

“My mobile,” Harry says shyly, and fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. His eyes widen when he sees the time on his watch. “Shit, I gotta go to my lecture. It was nice meeting you, Louis!” Harry spins around so fast that he stumbles over his own feet and he takes off, waving and calling over his shoulder, “Make sure to give me a ring soon, yeah?”

Louis waves goodbye as well and says, “I’ll do that!”

Once Harry’s gone around the corner, Louis looks down at the paper. A grin breaks across his face, and his cheeks burn with pleasure.

_Harry Styles._

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So he tries out for the quidditch team.

They way he’d figured, he’d be a shoe-in. He had been on the Slytherin quidditch team as soon as he’d been allowed to try out for it and, during his last few years at Hogwarts, he’d even been team captain—and a damn good one at that, considering that Slytherin had won the quidditch tournament three years running while he’d been captain. (He may or may not have also been trying out to impress a pretty green-eyed, curly-headed bloke by trying his hand at muggle quidditch but he’s not admitting anything).

Except, the thing is, he really hadn’t been.

In fact, he’s not sure if he’s made the team now that tryouts are over.

Muggle quidditch is seriously no joke. Louis thought he’d been a good athlete—a great one, even—and an even better quidditch player more specifically. But muggle quidditch? Nothing like regular quidditch, nothing like it at all.

The thing is, the rules had been easy enough to pick up; they’re modelled after the rules of regular quidditch, after all. In fact, the teams are set up the exact same way regular quidditch teams are—three chasers, two beaters, a keeper and a seeker—such that Louis had been able to take up the same position of chaser he’d had when he was at Hogwarts without much fuss. Sure, the muggles’ quaffles and bludgers aren’t the same (he recalls the university team’s captain had called them “volleyballs” and “dodgeballs”) and the beaters don’t have bats with which to hit the bludgers, but in practice the differences are more or less negligible. Players still want to avoid being hit with bludgers and the chasers have to get the quaffles in the goal hoops. Louis had been, admittedly, impressed at the presence of the three, tiered hoops. He’d figured the muggles would just use their football goalposts, but not so. They’re clearly committed to recreating quidditch as closely as possible and it had, truthfully, made Louis smile. The sight of the hoops had stirred a warm sense of familiarity in him that he hadn’t been expecting to find when he enrolled in muggle university.

Of course, that’s about where muggle quidditch diverges pretty significantly from the quidditch of Louis’ youth (to put it mildly). All the players have broomsticks, on which they’d “ridden” during tryouts (as much as it could be called that; it’s really more just running with a broom between your legs which…Well. He knows muggles don’t exactly have any other alternatives but as somebody who’s experienced the real thing Louis wouldn’t use that word to describe what they’d been doing with the brooms). The scoring system is mostly the same, too, although capturing the snitch garners a mere 30 points instead of 150 because the pace of the game is (understandably), on the whole, much slower.

When Louis had first seen the poster for quidditch tryouts that fateful day last week he had wondered what, exactly, muggle quidditch would look like. Muggles, obviously, don’t have the magic to make playing quidditch like witches and wizards possible. Muggle sports balls are easy enough to substitute for magical quaffles and bludgers. The snitch, on the other hand, is a different story because, unlike even the bludgers, which can be moved at the behest of the beaters, the snitch moves entirely independently of any of the players. As far as Louis knows, muggles don’t have a ball that can do that and, probably more than any other aspect of the sport, he’d been curious about the alternative the muggles would have for the snitch.

Whatever ideas Louis had entertained hadn’t come close to the reality.

Which is to say, he couldn’t have ever guessed that the snitch would have been a _human_.

Like, a living, breathing, flesh-and bone human in a bright orange mesh jersey. What in Merlin's name _even?_

If Louis stops to think about it, the change makes sense. How else can an independent, intelligently-moving actor exist without magic unless it’s another player? It’s just the entire thing had caught Louis so off guard that he had been sure he’d frozen as still as if he’d been hit with a particularly nasty _petrificus totalus_. Thankfully, all the other students at the tryouts had been too preoccupied with their own nerves to notice Louis staring stupidly at the player-snitch before he’d controlled himself. Louis’s glad he hadn’t been a seeker though. He’s not sure he’d have been able to move past the fact that the muggle snitch had been, well, a muggle with a “tennis ball” (so the captain had called it) attached to his waist that the seekers were meant to chase around the campus. As a chaser, he’d been more or less able to ignore it and focus on scoring points, instead.

Beyond the...culture shock, Louis supposes he could call it, he thinks he did okay actually scoring points but—

His throat and lungs _burn_ and his legs feel like his _Tante_ Genviève’s favourite gelatin fruit cake. His only saving grace is that his thighs have long since become deadened to the pain of gripping the wooden shaft of the broomstick between them so that he doesn’t feel the blistering pain he’s sure the other less-experienced players must have felt after having their broomsticks knocking against their legs for _hours_ by the time the captain finally called a close to the tryouts. Louis thought he’d been tough on his Slytherins but some of these muggles are giving him a run for his money. They have more enthusiasm for the sport and take it more seriously than some of Louis’ own teammates back at _Hogwarts_ and some of _them_ had gone on to be _professional quidditch players_.

It hadn’t all been bad, though. Muggle quidditch couldn’t hold a candle to regular quidditch, but he’d had fun playing it anyway and—Louis can’t stop the giddy bubble of a laugh or the smile that breaks across his face at the memory as he works shampoo through his sweaty hair in the locker room shower—Harry had shown up. Because he had a full day of classes, he’d only been able to stop by briefly to wish him luck, but he’d swung by _specifically_ in the hopes that he’d see Louis there and that...Well. He’d wanted to see Louis. Louis, specifically. Nobody else, just Louis.

God, Louis was so _fucked_.

Harry had _also_ mentioned wanting to hear about how tryouts went sometime soon, but he’d had to leave before they could come up with any concrete plans. The image of Harry’s number scribbled down on a scrap of paper and tucked neatly in the front pocket of Louis’ rucksack burns in his mind.

By the time Louis is done in the showers, Louis can hear that the locker room has emptied and figures he’s wasted away enough time. Jade will be expecting him back at their flat for dinner soon, anyhow.

Louis feels some of the tension he’d unknowingly been holding in his shoulders drain. He doesn’t hate muggles, isn’t afraid of spending time in muggle cities and around muggles (though the same can’t be said about his family, much to Louis’ disgust) but he hadn’t realized how stressful it would be at the beginning to live in muggle society full-time. He’s so used to being surrounded by magical creatures and magical folks performing all kinds of magic however, wherever, and whenever they liked that now, surrounded by muggles in a non-magical environment, he has to constantly keep himself in check and avoid saying or doing anything suspiciously magical that would give him away as a wizard.

When on holiday with his family or other magical folks, if they’d accidentally drawn attention to themselves they could have _obliviated_ the unlucky muggle if necessary—if the muggle hadn’t already written off what they’d just seen as their “mind playing tricks on them” or “just seeing things” already. Being a member of a muggle community—or at least trying to—is a different story. He’d be “Louis on the third floor of the flat at the end of the street” or “Louis from first year poli-sci with Professor Ramsay”. He couldn’t just obliviate everybody he knew and, for that matter, he didn’t want to, either.

So when he doesn’t have that pressure, he relaxes, and is amazed at how much it’s been wearing on him until it’s no longer there. He knows it’ll stop bothering him eventually, will become a non-issue, but he’s not quite there yet.

He mournfully flips the knob to 'off' on the shower and braces himself to re-enter the chilly locker-room. His bare skin pimples when he enters the locker room and he grimaces at the way the water droplets turn icy on his skin. He makes his way over to his locker as quickly as his stiff limbs will allow. Of course, in his haste to change into his clothes his antiperspirant falls from the shelf in the locker and skitters across the floor. Louis stares at it for a moment and sighs. He really doesn’t have the energy to physically walk over and get it (he still cannot believe how hard muggle quidditch his, he was the Slytherin team captain _last year_ for Merlin’s sake!). If somebody else had been in the locker room he might have been able to ask them to pass Louis his antiperspirant if they’d been nearby but. Louis blinks.

There’s nobody else in the locker room. He’s _alone_ , which means—

“ _Accio_ ,” Louis says, and the antiperspirant flies into his hand. He is so glad he put in the effort to learn that one wandlessly. It had save his skin on many an occasion.

Louis hears somebody clear their throat from behind him from the entrance to the locker room, and the blood rushes from his face. His hands are shaking, and it’s not from fatigue this time. He wants to throw up. He needs to turn around, but he can’t seem to move. He’d guess that somebody had cast a Full Body-Bind on him but for the fact that he hadn’t heard any incantation, and he hadn’t fallen to the floor.

“Louis?” The person says, and if Louis had wanted to throw up before, he wants to cast an _incendio_ on himself now because he knows that voice, knows that low, rough timbre, knows the way that voice shapes his name because the sound of it has been playing in his mind since last week.

He wonders what it is about Harry that always lets him catch Louis off-guard. _At least_ , Louis thinks hysterically, _I had time to put some trousers on._

“Louis?” Harry says again, and Louis hears the way that Harry’s voice is tight, infected by the same hysteria colouring Louis’ thoughts. “Class ended early, so I grabbed a couple of sandwiches. There’s a good place on campus but there usually aren’t any seats because everybody likes to do their homework there so I figured we could find a spot on the lawn instead since the weather is still good and you could tell me how tryouts went.” Harry is rambling again, nervous like he was when they’d first met, Louis can tell. “I saw some of the other people who were at tryouts leaving so I came in to see if you were still around.”

Louis wishes he could say something to comfort Harry, wishes he knew what to say, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth. There’s a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak, so Louis says nothing.

“Louis,” Harry says again, and this time Louis manages to turn around to face Harry. He wishes he hadn’t because Harry’s face is pale and his green, green eyes are wide. His voice is low and he asks, “Louis, what the fuck is going on?”

Again, Louis says nothing.

This time at a whisper, as if he daren’t put words to what he’s thinking, Harry chokes out, “Did you just summon that antiperspirant with ‘ _accio_ ’?”

Louis swallows. The lump is still there. What is he supposed to say, no? Harry saw him. He knows. Harry knows he’s a wizard oh god this time he knows he’s a wizard for real and Louis doesn’t have his wand to _obliviate_ him even if he wanted to he doesn’t know what to do he doesn’t—“Yes,” he chokes past the lump, “I did.”

Louis can’t bear to look at Harry to see his response, so he averts his eyes to to the grimy white-tiled floor of the locker room. The tiles by his feet are cracked. Louis wonders how many others have had the contents of their lockers tumble to the floor.

He hears a thump and chances a look at Harry. He’s dropped the white plastic bag holding their sandwiches onto the floor.

“I have to go,” Harry says, and he turns on his heel and hurries out of the locker room.

It’s cold in the locker room. So fucking cold.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Louis doesn’t hear from Harry for a couple weeks after that, and it feels like an eternity.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The buzzer rings and Louis hopes it’s the pizza he ordered. Moping on the sofa is hungry business, and Louis’ been at it for two weeks now. Jade, much as she loves Louis, has left to go out with Perrie, Jesy, and Leigh-Anne—some classmates she’s become friendly with in her music theory class. Louis figures it’s because she’s sick of seeing him do nothing besides make the corner sofa cushion his home the past few weeks. Louis can’t blame her. Considering they've been friends ever since that disastrous first potions class with the Gryffindors in first year (neither of them have ever been good at following a recipe; it's a wonder they've managed living in this flat alone so far without a single house elf between them), he's surprised she even tolerated it for that long. She's never been one to deal with his nonesense. He hopes she’s having fun. That would make one of them, at least. He’s tried to call Harry since the day of the quidditch tryouts, but he hadn’t answered, and all Louis could do was leave a message with his address and a request for Harry to “Drop by sometime so I can explain myself and properly apologize.” So now he’s moved onto moping.

Except it’s not the pizza guy. It’s Harry. Louis would be able to spot that pigeon-toed stance, those hunched shoulders, and that shock of brown curls anywhere even though the rest of Harry is hidden behind a precarious looking stack of... _Harry Potter books and blu-rays? What?_

“Harry?” Louis manages to say, somehow. It feels like he’s been stunned with a particularly nasty _stupefy_.

“Hi,” Harry says, trying to look around the stack in his arms. The entire thing wobbles, and so does Harry, and it shocks Louis out of his stupor. He surges forward, one hand grabbing onto Harry’s arm—and wow he works out—to stabilize him and the other pressing against the books and blu-rays so that they don’t all clatter to the ground.

Once he’s been assured that he’s not going to get a pile of Harry on his doorstep, Louis asks, “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s twisted a little bit so that he can actually see Louis’ face and says, brow furrowed and lower lip jutted in what Louis can only describe as a determined pout, “You’re going to help me separate fact from fiction.”

Louis blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said you wanted to explain yourself, didn’t you?”

Louis clears his throat. “I...Yes. Yes, I did.”

Harry grins and there’s something just a little sharp to it. It should probably scare him, but Louis can only feel relief. He gets it, gets what Harry is doing, and he’s more than happy to go along with it.

(He tries not to think about how he’d go along with just about anything Harry asked of him because he’s so grateful to have him back in his life. He thinks his feelings might quickly be running deeper than simple attraction and now is _definitely_ not the time.)

“Good. That’s what you’re going to do, then,” Harry says. He stares at Louis for a moment and asks with less confidence, “Can I come in?”

Louis blinks, registers that they’re still outside on the doorstep, and scrambles to let Harry in. He offers to take some of the pile from Harry, so Harry gives him half as they make their way to the lounge. As they walk, Harry explains, “I’ve brought the Harry Potter books and films. I don’t expect we’ll have time to watch them all, but we can at least get started. The books are mostly just for reference, but I’ve put some notes beside specific things I have questions for you about.”

It’s like the first day they met, and Louis can’t help but wonder how somebody who talks so languidly is capable of saying so much all at once. Louis has no doubt Harry would have been a Ravenclaw if he’d attended Hogwarts. He specifically doesn’t think about how some of that is just because he lets Harry go on for ages for no other reason than he likes the sound of Harry’s voice. He’s not quite that pathetic yet—or at least, not quite ready to admit it yet.

Nevertheless, he needs to get in a word at some point. “Harry I—” before he can say anything, the buzzer sounds again. Louis is fairly certain that it’s the pizza guy this time. At least, he hopes it is. He has a feeling he’s going to need the “sweet greasy carbs” (as Jade likes to call them). Pizza is definitely the best thing the muggles have ever invented.

Sure enough, this time when Louis opens the door he’s met with the pizza guy, and Louis hands over the notes. He’s still not sure how he feels using muggle paper money instead of the knuts, sickles, and galleons he’s otherwise used to. What he is sure about, however, is how grateful he is that he ordered a large pizza instead of a medium one like he’d originally considered. It had been a better deal to get the bigger size and if Harry really does intend to have them watch a bunch of those Harry Potter films, the extra food will be welcome.

He makes sure to stop in the kitchen to grab some plates and glasses of water, and tries to apologize again to Harry as he’s setting everything onto the coffee table.

“Look, Harry I’m—” he barely manages to get out before Harry interrupts him.

Harry has one of the books in his hand—it looks to be the first one, if the young, bespectacled boy on the cover whom Louis suppose must be Harry Potter-not-Styles is any indication—as he speaks. He’s looking down at the cover and rubbing his fingers across the raised text of the series’ name. He says, “You don’t need to apologize, Louis. I promise. It’s not your fault. I get why you didn’t say anything when we first met. The whole thing is kind of surreal—at least, to me it is because it’s your reality but now also somehow my reality? And I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. This stuff didn’t exist to me until a couple of weeks ago. It was a story.” The book in his hands look well-worn, and Louis wonders how many times Harry’s read it.

“Still,” Louis shrugs and offers Harry a smile, “I’m sorry anyway. I don’t think ‘you must have been shocked’ is able to capture what you probably felt seeing me do that. So. I’m sorry. For causing that kind of...disturbance,” Louis says.

Harry laughs, “Seeing you cast a spell from a book series I grew up reading and still re-read on a regular basis? No, ‘shocked’ isn’t anywhere near the same _planet_ of the kinds of emotions I was feeling. I’m not sure there are words to describe them.”

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah, no kidding.” He pauses a moment, unsure how to proceed before he decides they might as well tuck in to the pizza while it’s still hot. He passes Harry a piece, and Harry nods his head in thanks. He’s got his lower lip tucked between his teeth again, so Louis waits for him to formulate whatever question he seems to be turning over in his head.

“It’s because I’m a muggle,” Harry pauses to look to Louis for his approval of the term, so Louis nods before Harry continues, “that you didn’t say anything, right? Because of the Statute of Secrecy.”

Louis blinks. If he thought hearing the word ‘muggle’ come from the mouth of, well, a muggle was odd, it’s even odder to hear ‘Statute of Secrecy’. Harry’s right, but—”How do you know about that?”

Harry blinks in response before a grin explodes across his face. “It’s in the books.” He continues, this time more quietly, more to himself than Louis, “I can’t believe the stuff in the books is actually real.” Louis takes in the cover of the novels and films. Neither can he, frankly. Just how much detail do these books go into about magical society?

While Louis scrutinizes the books—as if doing so will glean him all the answers he seeks—Harry has taken to mumbling excitedly to himself about how different this thing in the series or that thing in the series is from real life, or if this or that exists at all in the real magical world. Louis doesn’t catch most of it, too fragmented and quiet to understand through all of Harry’s excitement, but one thing Harry says catches his attention.

He swallows his bite of pizza and says, cautiously, “Did you say Hogwarts?”

All of a sudden Harry’s attention is focused on Louis. Louis swallows again, but this time out of nervousness. He feels a bit like a rabbit staring down a hungry hippogriff. Harry says, “I did. What do you know about it?”

Louis licks his lower lip and says, lightly, “It, uh, was the school I went to. I was in Slytherin. Does the castle feature in the Harry Potter series?”

Harry stares at him for a second before he abruptly stands up and begins pacing back and forth in front of the telly. Louis can’t help but smile in amusement at how worked up Harry is about all this. He has to admit that he quite likes being able to “blow Harry’s mind” as Jade had put it when he’d described Harry’s initial reaction to seeing Louis perform the summoning spell.

“Does it feature in the series? It’s basically the backdrop _for_ the entire series. It’s so important that you could argue that the castle is a character all on its own.”

Louis frowns at that and makes a mental note to inquire after the author of this Harry Potter series. He’s surprised he hasn’t heard about it before, especially with how accurate it seems to be in its descriptions of magical Britain. “Yeah,” Louis says, “That sounds about right.”

Harry stops pacing and whirls around to face Louis. “Right. I have...so many questions for you, but we’re going to watch these films and you’re going to tell me _all_ about it.

Louis grins. “I’d be delighted to.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Did you get a Hogwarts letter?”

“Of course. All the students do. It’s how the school determines enrolment so they know what kind of resources they’ll need for the year. Although, I’ve never heard of somebody receiving hundreds of letters because they didn’t decline the offer of admission. Usually the school just assumes you won’t be attending in autumn if you don’t respond in a timely fashion.” Louis pauses, thoughtful, “Maybe if your family was prominent enough and had a tradition of attending Hogwarts they’d pester you about it, but I haven’t heard anything specific.”

Harry tries to look casual when he twines a lock of hair around his finger and asks, “Do you think my letter could still come in?”

Louis shoots him a sympathetic look. “‘Fraid not. You’d be much too old to go through traditional schooling. You’d have to hire a private tutor if your magic manifests late. It’s...not unheard of.”

In fact, it’s quite rare, and only ever observed in squibs from magical families, but there’s no reason for Louis to tell Harry that, not when Harry seems so content and gently hopeful at the thought.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Please tell me you have a familiar,” Harry says, and it’s almost a desperate plea.

Louis scoffs. “Of course I do. Almost every witch or wizard does at some point in their life. In school most people have one from the approved list of cat, owl, or toad but there are exceptions. By adulthood, people have all kinds of familiars. It’s not unheard of for a witch or wizard to have several. It all depends on the witch or wizard’s magical needs.” Louis pauses, thoughtful, “I think a witch’s familiar being tied to her magic is a muggle idea, too, isn’t it?”

Harry hums, “I think it is, yeah. What’s your familiar?”

“I have an eagle owl named Odysseus. His cage is in my room but I’ve let him out for the night right now to go hunt for food. I’ll introduce you to him some time when he’s in the flat. He looks scarier than he actually is.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Louis grimaces. “I hate that wall.”

“The one to Platform 9¾?”

Louis nods. “One year I spent the last few weeks of summer with my best friend Jade and her family in muggle London, so we had to catch the train from King’s Cross. I’ve grown up around magic my entire life, and it didn’t make running at full speed into the wall any easier. You can’t think that it won’t let you through, because then it won’t, so you have to go at it fast enough that your brain can’t finish the thought and activate the magic that will turn it solid.”

“Wicked.”

“Yeah it is pretty wicked.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Yes, the feasts are that lavish and yes, the Sorting Hat is that obnoxious.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Is that really what real quidditch looks like?” Harry asks, eyes glued to the screen as they watch Potter’s first real quidditch match.

A nostalgic smile has played across Louis face and he says, voice fond, “Yeah, yeah it is. It’s like nothing else.”

This seems to strike a chord within Harry, and he tears his eyes from the screen to stare directly at Louis. “You.”

Louis quirks a brow. “Me?”

“The day we met. You said you played sports in school.”

Louis frowns. “Yeah. I said that. I did play.”

Harry raises an accusing finger at Louis and says, “You went to Hogwarts.”

The lines of his frown deepen and Louis says, “Yeah, I did.”

“You played quidditch. For _years_.”

Whatever Harry is trying to get at, Louis still doesn’t follow. “Yes. I did. I was actually Slytherin team captain my last three years at Hogwarts.”

“You tried out for quidditch _here_. When we met you were looking at the poster.”

Oh. “Uh, yeah. I did do that didn’t I.”

“ _Why?_ ” Harry exclaims. “You didn’t think you were going to be playing your kind of quidditch did you?”

Louis flushes. “Not after the first couple minutes of staring at the poster, anyway.”

At that Harry cackles, “And you went and tried out anyway?”

Louis’ flush burns redder across the back of his neck and up to the tips of his ears. “I did because a certain someone was pretty adamant about it. And,” his voice quietens, coloured with shame, “I might have…thought….I’d be a shoe-in.”

That has Harry in tears and stitches, and Louis’s honestly not sure if he should be offended or not. He _thought_ he’d done a pretty okay job but. Well. He hadn’t made the team. So.

“Yeah, real funny. Laugh it up, but if I hadn’t gone out to that tryout where would we be now?” Louis grins. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty happy with the way everything turned out, all things considered.”

Harry returns the grin. “Yeah, me too.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Are Parselmouths really a thing?” Harry asks.

“Sure,” Louis says, “but Parseltongue isn’t really considered a Dark Art or anything like that. It creeps some people out, but only really the same people who’d be afraid of anything related to snakes anyway. It’s just another language. Although it is kind of rare. Nobody’s figured out why certain people are Parselmouths and others aren’t yet. It’s a pretty useful skill to have when it comes to healing and care of magical creatures. It kind of seems like the witch who wrote these books just hated Slytherins.” Louis frowns at that, and mumbles, "I'm not sure how to feel about that."

Harry laughs, and says, "Seems a bit that way, doesn't it?" He pauses, and then says, “Healing?”

“Of course. How better to learn about venoms and poisons and how to counteract them than from the magical creatures who have intimate knowledge in those areas?”

“Oh, I suppose that’s true,” Harry muses. He’s just opening his mouth to ask another question when Louis cuts him off.

“And no, nobody has ever found any evidence of Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets or the basilisk that it supposedly contains. It’s just another of many rumours about Hogwarts and its founders.” Louis frowns. “Don’t look so disappointed!”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Is Azkaban really that bad?” Harry asks and looks over at Louis.

Louis barely registers the question. At the sight of the prison his body had moved so that he’s now hunched over in on himself and his skin, normally a warm caramel tone, has gone quite pale. He feels the pressure of a presence wiggling against him, and he looks down to see Harry making himself comfortable at Louis’ side. Louis is grateful, and he manages to whisper, mind flashing to the one and only time he ever had to visit Azkaban to see one his _Oncle_ Victor, the dank and dark and screams and the never-ending bone-deep, soul-deep cold, “Yes. Yes it is.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Louis’s not sure when it happened, but at some point during the fourth Harry Potter film, Harry’s mood has taken a turn for the negative. A melancholy sort of expression has settled upon him, all downturned mouth, delicate frown, and grey-green eyes. Though they had quietly slid into cuddling on the sofa during the films—to Louis’ great pleasure; he loves the feel of Harry’s firm body curled into his chest, the perfect mix of soft and hard—Harry had fallen even further into a slump against him.

Louis frowns. He doesn’t like seeing that kind of look on Harry’s face. He likes making Harry happy, wants to see the way happiness makes his eyes sparkle and carves a dimple into his cheek.

“What’s got you down?” Louis asks softly, unwilling to break the quiet companionship that has settled over them now that the film has come to an end. Harry buries his cheek into Louis’ chest and lightly rubs it against the soft fabric of Louis’ jumper. Louis’ heart skips a beat. He hopes Harry doesn’t feel it.

Harry mumbles so low that Louis almost doesn’t hear him. “It’s silly. And childish.”

Louis hums and taps a rhythmless beat into Harry’s shoulder blade. “I’m sure it isn’t,” he says.

Harry taps the beat back into Louis’ chest and says after a moment, “It just doesn’t feel fair.”

Louis blinks and tilts his head in confusion. “The...Triwizard Tournament?” Louis hazards. “I promise it’s much better organized and that there’s much better supervision in reality. There’s no way somebody would get away with swapping the real trophy for a portkey like Voldemort does in the movie. In addition to the fact that he doesn’t exist and neither do his ridiculous horcruxes, of course.”

This at least draws out a short cackle from Harry and Louis grins, satisfied. Unfortunately, Harry’s melancholy returns with a sigh. He says, “I’m glad the tournament is not the disaster Harry Potter makes it out to be but no, I don’t mean the tournament. I mean all of it.”

“All of it?” Louis parrots back. He still has no idea what Harry means.

“Magic. Magical Britain. Witches and Wizards. Hogwarts. All of it. I’m...there are no words to describe how knowing it all exists makes me feel, but I almost wish I’d never found out about it because at least that way I knew it was totally unattainable. It was fiction. A fantasy. Even though it’s reality now, it’s still unattainable, but the kind of unattainable that’s just out of reach. Like the word on the tip of your tongue that you can’t recall for the life of you no matter how you try, or something.” He trails off.

And oh, is that it?

Louis pats Harry’s arm, signalling that he needs to get up. Harry obliges, but frowns. “Louis?” He calls, when Louis walks out of the lounge without saying anything.

Harry still has his eyes on Louis when Louis returns, and Louis shoots him a crooked grin.

“Why are your hands—” Harry starts, noting the way Louis has his hands clasped behind his back. He cuts off when he feels his hair move, as if caught in a breeze. Except they’re inside, and there isn’t any wind.

Harry’s hand shoots out to inspect his hair. He frowns intently at it before his eyes return to Louis. “What are you doing?” He whispers, suspicious.

Louis’ grin only grows as he brings his hands out from behind his back. “Swish and flick,” Louis comments, picking up more strands of Harry’s hair with the Levitation Charm.

Harry’s eyes widen to the size of saucers and Louis lets out his own bark of a laugh at the sight. “Your wand!” Harry cries.

“My wand, indeed, and I’m an adult…” Louis lets Harry finish the thought.

“So no tracking spell. Brilliant!” Harry pauses and twists the hem of his own jumper while he worries his bottom lip before he says quietly, tentatively, “May I see it?”

Louis smiles warmly at Harry, and flips his wand around to hand it over to Harry as he takes a seat beside him on the sofa. “Of course.”

Harry takes the wand gently from Louis, handling it as if it is a precious glass artifact. “It’s alright,” Louis reassures Harry, “It won’t break on you. They _are_ made to endure being taken into combat, you know.”

Harry shrugs, too taken with the wand to add any further comment. He turns it about in his hands and grips it as if he’s about to cast a spell. He even waves the wand through the movements of the Levitation Charm and Louis is impressed by how good his form is for somebody who’s never been able to attend a charms class.

“What’s it made of?” Harry finally asks.

“Cedar. Dragon heartstring core. It’s five and three quarter inches long.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathes as he hands it back over to Louis. “Ollivander’s?”

“Yes. My family took me to get it the summer before my first year at Hogwarts. Until then, I’d been using spares to practice at home. Having my own wand made casting spells a whole lot easier.” Louis laughs a little at the memory. “I’d thought I was going to fail all my classes for all the difficulty I had with those spare wands.”

Harry shoots him a small smile, “I bet,” and sighs once more. Louis frowns. He hopes he hasn’t just made things worse.

“Are there any spells in particular you’d like to see me cast?” Louis asks Harry. He’d liked the Levitation Charm well enough, so Louis figures Harry might like to see more.

Sure enough, Harry’s eyes brighten. “Do you by any chance know the Patronus Charm?”

Louis snorts at that and rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Of course you’d pick the difficult one.” Harry smiles, shrugs, and has the decency to look bashful. Louis says, “As luck would have it, I do actually know the Patronus Charm. For a few solid years I was set on being a Cursebreaker, and figured it would have been a handy spell to have mastered.”

Harry laughs and nods his agreement. “I would imagine so.”

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ,” Louis casts, and Harry gasps as he catches sight of Louis’ silvery wolf patronus. The patronus comes up and nuzzles Louis in greeting before doing the same thing to Harry.

“It’s warm,” Harry remarks. "I thought it would be cool because of the way it looks but...It’s warm. Like summer sunlight.”

Louis nods. “Some people speculate it’s because they’re conjured from happy memories.”

“That makes sense,” Harry murmurs, still completely taken with the patronus. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this right now.”

“It was hard to believe the first time I saw it, too, to be honest. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Louis dismisses the patronus. This time, Harry doesn’t quite slip back into the melancholic expression he’d had before, but there is a persistent air of wistfulness about him. Louis doesn’t quite understand why until it clicks. Harry loves magic, and would be delighted at every example of it Louis could show him, but it’s not the magic alone that he feels is out of reach. It’s the world of magic, the magical society of Britain. He wants to experience that world, wants to see and taste and smell and hear and feel it for himself, not filtered through the words on a page or through the film on the screen, and he’s worried that he’ll only ever get a reflection, an interpretation, when the real thing exists for him to, conceivably, experience firsthand.

And well. That’s not a difficult fix either, but it poses significantly more risk. Exposing a muggle to British magical society is not only dangerous, Louis could get in serious trouble with the Ministry for it. Except the thing is, Louis gets the feeling that, if the secrets of magical society were to be safe with any muggle, that muggle would be Harry. Louis knows, knows somehow with a certainty that goes deep to his bones and his magic, that Harry would never breathe a word of magical society to anybody else.

So Louis asks him, “How would you feel about going on a proper date this weeked to Florean Fortescue’s? Apparently their new autumn flavours are in.”

Harry’s head whips around to face Louis’ so quickly Louis has half a mind to cast _episkey_ or conjure a bottle of skele-gro he’s so certain that Harry has snapped his neck. It doesn’t help that Harry stares at him, shocked, for what feels like several minutes.

Louis’s just about to ask if Harry is okay when Harry finally speaks, voice low and taut, “You’re being serious, yeah?”

Louis nods and then Harry has tackled him backwards onto the sofa. Lips—soft, moist, and tasting inexplicably of pizza and vanilla both—meet his and _holy shit_ he’s kissing Harry this was _not_ the plan but he’s definitely not complaining. When his brain finally catches up, Louis kisses Harry back and digs his fingers into Harry’s soft, soft mess of hair. Louis can feel Harry’s own fingers curl into the material of Louis’ jumper, and they lie there together, warm and pressed into each other’s nooks and crannies. They kiss for a while and it’s nice, really nice.

Louis’ wand rests underneath the coffee table, temporarily forgotten after it had slipped out of his grasp when Harry had tackled him. Pizza crumbs are scattered across the table surface. The pizza box sits empty. There are some crumpled paper napkins knocked about the table. Their plates are streaked red with leftover tomato sauce and greasy fingerprints mark up their glasses beside their empty plates. On the telly, the blu-ray runs through its main menu animation on loop and Harry’s Potter books and films have been placed in a haphazard pile beside the coffee table, closest to where Harry had been sitting.

Louis will have to clean everything up eventually, but for now, he lets himself get lost in the only Harry that matters.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this. Please do let me know if you catch typos so I can fix them asap!


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